What now?
by whenduskfalls
Summary: What does the BLU team do when faced with a runaway kid who has nowhere to go? It's chaos when the battle is put on hold because of the sluggish heat, and cooped up with each other, the team of mercenaries might just go insane! Will probably contain bloody stuff and strong language to make it accurate, so be warned. )-
1. Chapter 1

A.N: Hey (: I'm kind of new to , but I've always had an interest in writing. I thought maybe I could write something to take my mind off things, so here it is. There's a slow start to the beginning, and the first chapter hardly touches on the actual elements of the game, so I'll just add the second chapter as soon as I can. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated on this, because that's how you improve ^ ^' There will be no "fluff" (Although I am a hard medic x heavy shipper) and it'll contain a reasonable amount of swearing and violence (to match the personalities of the classes, of course.) Anyway, thanks so much for sticking around for my long intro. Enjoy!

Usually the weather around my tiny town was bland. Gray masses could stretch over the sky for weeks, with not a hint of its load reaching us. My tiny little town is ordinary. There was once a huge expanse of villages webbed together across the area, with factories and barns and railroads, but now they're gone. We're still here though. Somehow, secluded from the rest of the world in our little valley in the hills, we've not gone totally insane yet. Well, most of us. Our town has everything a town needs, including an all-smiles Mayor, a slow and corrupt police force, and of course, the town drunk.

My feet crunch over the dried, dusty grass in rhythm with the music blasting out of my earbuds. I roll over the short history of what I've happily left behind in my head while I walk. Around me is an expanse of the same dry, dirty, unhealthy grass. Everything's so gravelly around here, it's no wonder that the grass is choking. My little town.. I turn, looking back behind me. On the wide, smoothly curved topping of a hill, I can see the town now. I know this sight by heart, often coming here to gaze at the same landscape and forget my troubles. Rolling my eyes, I turn away and start back across the landscape. Why cling to that place? I'm done with that town. Done with that man.

I used to enjoy all sorts of books. The thought crossed my mind unexpectedly. Turning, I check the large bag across my back. It's stuffed with things, a thin and heavily used book stuffed into the side. The pages are yellowed, wrinkled. "Mandy has her problems," I read out loud the text across the cover in small letters, just below the title. "But can she overcome the shadow of her mother's problems?" I roll my eyes, and toss the book to the ground. The dirty pages don't look so out of place in the dusty grass. The book is one of those that you find on your fourth grade teacher's shelves, which looks like it's been written by an author who can't think of anything but pretty girls with 'problems' who need to juggle home issues with boy trouble. Starting forward again, I mutter to myself, "Why the hell couldn't I grab something good?" I've got a long journey ahead of me. I should have grabbed something of my own collection, not the library's. Oh well. I made a split second decision, and grabbing one of my own books would have slowed me down. A smile cracks across my face, and I begin to run forward, the wind blowing small bits of dead grass and dust past me as my arms fly open. The realization of what I'm doing strikes me with a blast of high spirits. "I'm free!" I whoop to myself, falling forward, looking up at the drab sky, the broad smile still stretched across my face. I'm free of that life, that town. Mentally, I sketch out my new life's plan in my head. Nothing could go wrong, this far from the shadow plaguing my life for far too long. Wiping a joyful tear away, I stand again, and begin my long trek across the dusty, wide expanse of freedom.

"Just why the hell can't you do anything right?" The words are a barrage of distraction as I attempt to keep my focus on the book I've been assigned for Enriched English II. If he wants my attention, he'd better try a lot harder to get it. This argument got old a long time ago. His taunting voice jeers again, a hint of something toxic on his breath. Maybe it's smoke, or some kind of drug. Perhaps it's alcohol. I don't really care what it is, but the vile stench is going to make me puke. He paces a bit, unsteadily rocking, before turning to take another verbal jab at me. "You know, you're the reason your mother left." His words are slurred, and I've heard him say a lot of things. Terrible things. But this was new. I turn half an ear to listen, but keep my eyes downcast. It was a mistake. He knows he has my attention now. "She ran off with that.. that guy, because you ruined her life. You ruined our lives!" His words are becoming harder to make out, though I've had much practice. "Y-you.." he stops, and I glance up to see the glare of a wild, unintelligent animal glaring back at me from behind a stubbly beard and dirty smudges. "You are nothing. Get out." His words don't really affect me anymore, but that command hit me like a bullet. Or maybe like the first blessed drops of rain after a dry spell. He always whined that I couldn't follow his commands. I watched as he slumped forward, snoring on the battered couch, draped like a ragdoll being tossed by a careless child. Shrugging, I whispered to myself "Alright, sir." Without a glance at the pathetic husk of the man on the couch, I grab my school bag and dump out the books and notes onto the table. I needed the room.

The music on my ipod died. The sun is ascending on the third morning since my escape, and still I can not find a reason to regret what I've done. The memories of countless arguments etched into my memories recount themselves as I walk, keeping me company. My legs ache and I feel grimy with dust, but the feeling of freedom will keep me going. As the sun rises on a pleasantly blue sky, nearing midday, I hault. In front of me is a rise in the hills, and just over it I can see what looks like the roof of a building. Running forward, I am met with the sight of what looks like an old mining town, surrounded by tall walls on all side. Inside, I can just about make out the form of small buildings, with two larger buildings at each end.

On the left is a large, faded sky blue building. Scanning, I spot an equally dull red one on the right. My options are rather limited, and as I check my bag to see what I have left, I realize how dangerously low I am on supplies. I have little water left, and with the sun finally scorching through the clouds overhead, I would be in a pickle without more supplies. "Those old towns were abandoned rather quickly, weren't they?" I talk to myself to keep myself sane. Nothing but wind through gravelly grass can drive you insane, trust me. "Perhaps they left some supplies I could snag." Hopping down the steep slope to the town, I walk towards the walls. It takes a while to get there, but it takes even longer to scope out an entrance. Inexplicably, there isn't one. I wander the perimeter, twice. There's no entrance that I can find. "Great.." I sink down against one of the walls, hidden within the tall grass growing by its side. As I stretch out my feet, my sneakers clang against something metal in the grass, and a sudden whirring shocks me to my feet. "What the hell?" Walking forwards, I can see a small globe of light, a vibrant blue. It's coming from some kind of metal trap of sorts, or maybe a weird metal stool. Modern art? I dunno. My curiosity wrestling with my uncertainty, tug the grass away from it, revealing a rusting blue exterior. It looks battered by the elements, but not particularly old. Finally, my curiosity wins. Stepping forward, I can feel the metal contraption begin to emit a low hum, and an unpleasant electrical shock travels up my legs, into my skull, making my teeth chatter. Before I can jump off, I feel the ground fall out from under me. No matter how hard I yell, I can't hear myself. Suddenly, I'm dropped somewhere, and fall backwards, swearing colorfully. "Little piece of.. Whoa." My eyes light up as I survey where I am. I seem to be under a bridge of some sort, in what might have once been a river, long dried and evaporated. The little metal machine continues to whurr away happily, but it can't mask the loud voice that cuts through the air with a crackle. A woman's voice, playing across speakers just above the bridge that I can see mounted on the wall, rings out severely. "Mission begins in thirty seconds."


	2. Chapter 2

[A.N- Here it is, just like I promised. I introduced the characters a little more in this one. I hope I got the personalities right so far. Any reviews or feedback is always welcome! There's a pov switch later. Enjoy (: ]

Thirty seconds until the mission begins? What mission? Cautiously, I peer out of the safety of the bridge as I count the seconds in my head. Ten, nine, eight. I can hear someone yelling, though their voice is too distant for me to make out clearly. Seven, six, five. Why the hell did I stand on that thing? Four, three, two. I duck my head back, keeping myself against the wall as I hear gates shutter open distantly, a horn of battle calling out across the abandoned town. The bridge above me rattles viciously, and it takes all I have not to instinctively yell. A pair of feet appear near the gap of the bridge, and stop. I can just make out a set of tidy black shoes, with straight and clean pant legs stiffly formed around slender legs. As I turn back towards the strange device under the bridge, a chilling battlecry erupts. A flash of light speeds through the air, colliding with the man, and then the bridge. I leap back. I may be yelling, I have no idea. All I can hear is the ringing in my own head as the explosion obliterates the bridge. A shockwave of sound and splinters of wood blast into me, but I still can't hear myself scream. It's just pain and confusion, the world spinning rapidly. As I slowly gain my composure, I turn to where the man was, and nearly vomit. All that remains is a bloody heap of flesh and burning cloth, the shoes still in their original position but slick with blood. Dizzy, I look away, taking a moment to let my head clear. When I turn back, the best I can hope to do is get a grip on my situation. Trying to ignore the remains, I survey the damage. The bridge has been obliterated, and the cool shade of the underbridge is gone, replaced with a heat that seemed to scorch right into my bones. How the hell could anyone be fighting right now? Crawling back towards the mysterious device, I shakily push aside a platt of wood, and swear loudly. I can hear myself, at least from my left ear. That's good. The teleporter is nothing but a twisted stub of metal stuck in the ground, the rest of it blown away by the blast.

Great. There goes my escape! Sitting back against the wall, I grab my bag, wincing. My arm is throbbing painfully, and it takes a moment for me to fumble the catch open. Everything inside is alright, though it looks as though my iPod might have cracked. That's the least of my worries. I'm rather surprised to see the bag intact, though it was behind me. I suppose I should be surprised to see myself intact. Lurching the bag onto my back, I crawl out of the ditch and into the open air, the sun still scorching down. Above me rise high towers, which are coated in chipped, faded blue paint. None of them seem to have doors, but they have wide open windows. I fail to notice the man in one of the windows with a gun pointed at my head.

The sniper watched through the scope of his gun, with the small blue beam pointed directly at the head of what appeared to be a scout, who had crawled from the remains of Soldier's barrage. He looked about the right height, and though he was coated in dust, the sniper could see the faint coloring of a bright red shirt. Sniper could have shot him down, but he hesitated a second, unsure of why the supposed scout wasn't moving. "'Ou little wanker.. Why 'un 'ou just scurry off back home?" Sniper muttered to himself. He paused a moment more, wiping the condensation from his brow, before lining up the shot. Before he tightened his grip on the trigger, however, the figure turned. He was built like the scout, but this was definitely not an enemy red. He has a tight lick of brown hair, with what looked like blonde highlights. His eyes could have been pale blue or vivid gray, it was difficult to tell. The shirt he had on said "New York", and no visible weapons were in his hands. He didn't look like he was hunting down Sniper's partners. He looked.. confused. Swearing profusely, Sniper slammed down the gun, and picked up the small walkie talkie resting on a crate by a jar of curious yellow liquid. "Mates," he looked through the window, watching the newcomer wander towards the battle. "We 'ave a problem."

[A.N: I'm switching perspectives here because I feel like it'll make it easier to tell. The first chapter was told from Main C's point of view to keep the reader guessing if it was a girl or a boy, what they looked like, etc. Carry on (: ]

Alby plodded on, his head still rocking slightly, his right arm hanging limply at his side. "This is just great," he muttered. "I'm stuck in a loonatic's town." Turning his head slightly, he heard gunfire, and cries of "Medic!" and "Spy!" echoing across the town, unnerving him. Screams erupted and the laughter of a maniac ensued. Where the hell was he? Blasts of fire and rockets spewed into the sky, blood splattering out of the doorway in front of him. Whatever happened in there, he decided, he did NOT want to get involved in. He ran forward, glad of his lithe figure as he scooted into the shadows of a towering building, sweat trickling down his forehead, and craned his need to peer around the edge of the stiff, wooden frame. In front of him, the largest man Alby had ever encountered was rattling a massive machine gun off. The man was in a black vest overlaying a blue shirt was firing rapidly at a man in some sort of red, rubbery suit.

Both were yelling, but the large man was speaking in russian. The suited one couldn't be understood, hardly heard over the click of the Russian's massive gun spitting bullets into his body. He dropped dead into a pool of his own blood, his suit riddled with smoking holes. As Alby gagged once more, the body disappeared, but the blood remained. Alby jumped, falling backwards into a large stack of crates, and peered over the edge as the large russian man ran past, his flesh burned and scarred in many patches. Just as Alby thought that the heavy man would topple and twitch into death, another man in a long white coat emerged from the bloody door Alby had avoided, holding a strange looking device. It almost resembled a vacuum cleaner. He pulled the lever back, keeping pace with the russian as a vibrant blue trail of.. something twined around the russian. Alby watched half in fascination, half in fear, as the large man's skin regenerated. The new man was a loon, Alby thought. His blue rubber gloves, high boots and thick pants must make it impossible to breathe in this heat, let alone move. "I need to get the fluck out of here," Alby gasped, righting himself and kicking the boxes away. The two men were out of sight, but the battle still apparently raged on. "Jeebus Creepus," Alby muttered aloud, and walked forward, turning his head and smacking into a tall man. Falling backwards, he looked up at the tall silhouette, stuttering incoherently. The figure crouched, revealing a smoothly chiseled face with a thin chin, eyes hidden by aviator sunglasses. His hat kept him well shaded from the sun, but Alby could still see the drops rolling down from his hair and behind his glasses. In his hand was a smooth machete, flicked with droplets of blood, and with a lurch of his stomach, Alby realized that it was fresh. The man held out a roughly scarred and callused hand for Alby to shake,

tipping his hat with his other hand. "Aye."


	3. Chapter 3

[A.N: Hey guys. I just got a random urge to post today. I'm gonna try not to burn myself out with writing, but I really enjoy it so far! I really hate when people don't post for months at a time, so I'll make sure to keep to at least once a week. This one feels a bit weird, so I might change a little bit of it later on. This one is a little bit shorter, just so that I can give myself room to advance the characters. Enjoy c: ]

Alby ignored the hand, his eyes sizing up the man. He was thin, tall, and though not covered in muscles, you could see the power in his stance. He wore a blue shirt, with a dark gray vest over top. Bullets were strung into the fabric of his vest, and his belt housed a small pistol. He didn't look particularly hostile, but the hardened eyes and scars crossing the flesh visible to Alby still unnerved him. This was a man who was not at all stranger to pain and war. When Alby refused the gesture, the man lowered his hand, peering at Alby through his glasses, judging Alby as Alby had judged him. "Tellin' you tha' you were lost would be an understatement, aye?" He stood, taking Alby by the arm and jerking him roughly to his feet. When Alby remained silent, the man spoke again. "What's got your tongue, lad? We 'aven't got all day to talk. There's a battle round 'ere, just 'case you hadn't noticed. How bout 'ou tell me yer name?" He had an australian accent, thick with each word. Finally, Alby let out the breath of air that he had been holding without his own knowledge, and spoke. "My name is Alby. And.." He threw his hands in the air, his frustration and confusion spilling over. "I am lost in a loony's town with the whole species of crazies out to murder each other." The man continued looking at Alby curiously, his arms now crossed, though he held carefully to his knife. Alby suddenly questioned his decision to call the man a loony. He looked dangerous, and a little more that a bit insane. When he didn't speak, though, Alby grew impatient. "What do you want, a life story?!" Alby threw down his bag. "I feel like my right arm is on fire, the heat is going to burn me like toast, I'm stuck in the crossfire of some loon convention, my head is spinning like a bad theme park ride.." Thoroughly defeated, Alby threw himself down against the wall, ignoring the splatters of dried blood on them, and looked up helplessly at the stranger. "I've watched two men die, another come back from the brink of death. What do you want from me?" Finally, the man spoke. "Well, Alby.." He scratched his chin, watching Alby with the same careful hardness in his eyes. "How'd you get yerself into here? It shoulda been impossible ta' get inta this place." Alby shrugged. "Some kinda metal thing. Under the bridge." He tossed a finger carelessly in the direction of the obliterated mass of wood. The stranger looked about to say something, but the pounding of quick feet interrupted him. Someone skidded around the corner, kicking up a cloud of dust. He was coated in sweat, but looked far from exhausted. Ignoring Alby, he yelled to the man talking to Alby. "We gotta hot one comin', Aussie! Move it!" Alby had time to catch a glimpse of a blue shirt the same shade as his interrogator's, and a slick black hat, before he rounded a corner at impressive speed. Alby yelped as the man jerked him up again, roughly tugging his uninjured arm, and pushed him forward forcefully. "Get movin', unless you're set on being toast." A soft sound could be heard now, around the corner. It sounded like a bonfire sparking into life. Making a wild guess at what the sound was, Alby took off at full speed, the blue-shirted man behind him. The crackling of fire could be heard clearly now, with muffled yells to accompany them. It seemed that the man in the rubbery red suit was.. Alive? Alby shook his head. No way. Looking up, he skid sideways to avoid a wall, his heart pounding heavily in his own ears. Racing to the left, he flew up a flight of stairs three at a time, the belching of the flames growing softer behind him. He darted into a large, hollow tower with a few windows to allow light into the sparse environment. Crates lined the walls, some with an odd assortment of items on them. As soon as the stranger was inside, he slammed the door shut. "What.. The hell.." Alby gasped, doubling over with his hands on his knees. He'd always considered himself rather athletic, but as he looked at the man, he realized he was nowhere near as in shape. His apparent new ally was hardly out of breath. The gunman walked stiffly to the wall. "Pyro," he said, glaring out the window of the tower they were in. "A nasty 'un, burn you alive. Or dead. Doesn't matter to 'im." Alby looked away, marvelling to himself that he had landed himself in the weirdest place ever. He nodded sarcastically. "Right, I'll take notes. What the fuck is going on here? Who are you?" Alby tipped his head for a moment. "What the hell is in the jar?" He inclined his head to the jars on the crates by the window. Two were full, one was about half empty. The man glanced back at Alby for a moment, then spoke to him with his gaze trained on the window. "You've landed yourself in the middle of a lovin' brotherly scuffle, mate. You can call me Sniper, cause we don't use names 'round here. And that," he glanced at the jars, a smirk cracking on his face, "Is a jar o' piss." Alby stepped back, revulsed. "We? There are more of you guys?" The Sniper nodded. "You've only seen a few o' the party, lad." Alby flopped down onto one of the crates, cradling his arm. "So um.." He glanced at the Sniper. He had taken a position on another wooden box, a gun that he had seemingly pulled from nowhere propped against the frame or the window. He had a scope close to his eye. "What now?" The Sniper took a shot, a sharp cry ringing out as the bullet collided with some poor sap, then turned to Alby grimly. "Now, we try an' keep you alive."


	4. Chapter 4

Do I owe yall an apology or wat. Holy crap I am so sorry for breaking my promise! My life's been hectic with a few recent deaths in the family, sorry for being so slow! I might try for another chapter in a day or two -eyebrow wiggle- Anyway, enjoy!

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Alby opened his eyes, his heart beating rapidly. He'd heard something. Or had he? Casting his eyes around the room, he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. The shadows across the wall had changed as the sun had crawled across the sky. He was hidden in a thick blanket of cool shadow, while the Sniper was still doused in sunlight from his position at the window. They were alone. Or were they? Something about the air was different. Alby silently scolded himself for his paranoia, scanning the room again. People couldn't go invisible. The heat must be affecting him, he thought miserably. He leaned his head against the door, sighing, the thoughts in his head rolling slowly in the sluggish heat. A seemingly important thought rolled to the surface, but just before it broke to the top of the jumble of emotions, memories, and ideas, the door he'd been leaning on shifted, and he had to adjust his position against the wall. Relaxing once more, he closed his eyes and regathered the information in his head. A few seconds passed before Alby's eyes shot open once more, swirling at their depths with a mixture of fear and confusion. That door had been firmly shut. Alby turned to the Sniper to call out, but his voice caught in his throat. A tall figure stretched above Sniper, a butterfly knife in his hand. His head was hidden by a mask, the rest of his thin body in a tight, expensive-looking suit of pale red. The man hadn't seen Alby, or the boy guessed that he would already be dead. The knife glittered dangerously as light bounced off of it, and driven by his fast-beating heart, Alby reached for the nearest thing he could find and hurled it at the intruder. The glass jar of yellow liquid his him in the small of his back, and fell, shattering. The liquid burst free, splashing his shoes and much of his fancy attire in a putrid-smelling coating. The man swore, bringing up a watch, but it was too late. Sniper turned with his machete in his hands and slashed, cutting into.. nothing? Alby blinked rapidly. The man with the suit had disappeared completely, but the knife had still struck its target. Blood splattered the wall, dripping down to the floor as Sniper brought his knife up to strike again. Something blundered into the door near Alby, and he heard a foreign babble of furious swearing or insults grow distant as a trail of bloody drops splattered the steps just outside the outpost. "Uhh.." Alby looked over at Sniper when the voice faded, and was surprised to see him already back at his post. "Aren't we going to do, like, anything about him?" Sniper shrugged, sitting up and taking a large swig of coffee, adjusting his hat on his head. "Wot is there t' do? 'E's gone, an yer fine. Now that he knows there's two o' us an un of 'im, he won't bother. There 're easier fish for 'im to go after." Alby gaped at him. "That man tried to kill you! No, wait.. That man went invisible! Aren't you just the least bit, I dunno, concerned?" Sniper watched him evenly over his sunglasses, the sweat on his head rolling down into his shirt collar. "I die every day, lad. An un little spook don't frighten me anymore." He seemed to have a startling realization, and scanned Alby once more, as if trying to make sure that he was truly unharmed. Alby didn't notice. "Die everyday? Yeah right. I'm not a little kid, you don't have to lie to comfort me or something." Sniper looked about to retort, but a sudden gust of wind blasted through the screenless windows and nearly blasted his hat off his head. Only his lightning reflexes saved it. The breeze swirled past Alby in a rather welcome break from the stifling heat. Sourly, the Sniper rolled his eyes at the boy and grabbed his gun again, settling himself onto the crates and peering through the scope.

The next time Alby awoke, the air was definitely different. He coughed, closing his eyes again for a second as dust was blasted into them by the constant swirl of wind that was blowing through the tower. Sniper had a scarf around his head and his scope to block the sand, but apparently he was still having trouble. After a few moments, he growled and threw the scarf down, setting the gun behind the crate. "I can't see a bloody thing through the damned dust. These sandstorms 're such a pain in the ass." He walked stiffly across the room, slamming a pair of wooden shutters closed to slightly halt the flow of dust through the small room. Alby stood up, glancing out through the window. A raging cloud of dusty brown had swept the town, and reaching up, Alby felt the gritty mess of his hair from the gale. He could hardly make out the buildings closest to them, the rest lost in the sea of particles swirling in the air. "If we're caught in that, it'll be pretty hard to see. Or.. breathe," Alby commented lamely, looking hopefully at Sniper. But his face fell as the australian gunman shook his head. "Can't stop 'till the lady says so. An-" He cut short as an obnoxiously loud woman's voice crackled into life around them, supposedly from the speakers around the town. "The mission will be suspended. Report to your bases to await further information." Sniper sighed, looking relieved. "Well lad, I guess ya got yer wish, fightin' seems done for th' day an' we can take a break." Alby gave cheer, jumping into the air. "Man, this dust was getting old." Sniper cracked a smile at the boyish outburst, then gathered his supplied. He tossed his scarf at Alby, who caught it with one hand and looked expectantly up for another item. Sniper glanced at his load, and shrugged, tossing the thermos for him to carry. It was nice, he decided, as they carefully made their way down the tower steps, not to have to make two trips to retrieve everything he kept in the tower.


	5. Chapter 5

This one is loooooooong to make up for all the mistreatment by long I mean long in comparison to how lazy I've been. I think I made it too obvious that I love the medic..

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The first thing Alby noticed was the cleanliness. It was extremely refreshing to breathe freely, and he took in a deep breath as a thick wire gate shuttered closed behind them. The air in the room they had entered was void of dust, though Alby suspected he might be tasting the vile grit for a few hours still. Lining the walls were wooden benches and metal cabinets, and a ragged poster on the wall read "B.L.U, Builders League United." They were alone, but the items littered around the room suggested that there were others soon to join them. A few baseballs had been shoved into a corner, next to what looked like a huge battery. A pair of gloves here and there, misplaced bullets, and blast marks along the wall suggested a frequency of use. Upon inspection of one of the cabinets, Alby found it filled with medical supplies and ammunition of all sorts. This was a resupply room.

The sniper set his gun and a few jars down on one of the benches, then flipped out his machete, examining it in the pale light that flicked from the lamp suspended from the ceiling. He polished the blood off of it with his scarf, and peered at it again. Satisfied, he set it down as well, then stretched, and Alby heard a sharp pop from his back. Alby set his load by the other items, flopping down onto the bench beside the weapons. His pale blue gaze traversed the heap of weapons and tools, and he almost let out a weak laugh. He was in a town dedicated to some kind of sibling war, trapped with at least five men bent on killing each other, and just a few hours before he'd been standing, free as a bird on the crest of a hill, a wide blooming valley behind him and his future ahead. He gave a resigned sigh, slumping his head forward, eyes closed, in a sudden state of exhaustion, feeling the weight of his situation press onto him.

A rough hand gripping his shoulder brought Alby back to the world. The sniper had his hand on his uninjured arm, and had his eyes trained on the gate. Alby looked up, and watched a figure emerge through the blooming dust, walking as though the dust didn't bite at their skin or sting their eyes. A few tense moments passed, and then Alby understood why the figure walked so comfortable. They stepped through the gate, and Alby was unsure whether to feel scared or terrified. The man (Alby assumed) was clad in a blue fire-resistant suit, in his hands a flamethrower that looked something more than deadly. His gaze was impossible to read, as it was locked away behind a cold black mask, two shining glass holes blackened and impossible to see through from this side. Alby's fear was not entirely eradicated as the sniper held out a large hand, gesturing to the walking suit. "This is the Pyro." Pyro waved, letting out a happy, muffled greeting. It was almost comical how his appearance clashed with the cheerfulness he radiated. Sniper leaned down, whispering to Alby. "Dun let 'im frighten ye, lad. 'E's a big softie, long as yer not tryin' ta hurt 'is team." Alby let out a shaky laugh. "Alright, I'll be sure not to piss him off."

Pyro had set his flamethrower down, and pulled an axe from seemingly nowhere and tossed it down next to him. With a squeal of what sounded like laughter, he skipped forward. Alby tried to dive aside, but he was gathered into a crushing hug. He gasped, trying to squirm free as a cheerful babble of words was issued by the Pyro. "Mmm, mmph mm mphh mmmmmmph mm!" The sniper let out a chuckle, turning away. Alby wildly wondered if he would pass out from the suffocating hug, but he was released as a rough new voice came to his rescue. "Herr Pyro! Zat is no way to greet der Junge!" Alby sucked in air as he was let go, hugging his throbbing arm to his side, looking up to look at his savior.

The first man to walk forward was the one who had spoken. He was thin, Alby realized. Very thin. And pale. His coat was an extremely light blue, with sky colored gloves over top. They looked like surgical gloves. His face was creased with thin, not unattractive lines that gave him a perpetual frown of disapproval. Small glasses were set on his large nose, and a tight curl of black swinging off from a thick, slightly receding swath of hair completed his figure. His stance was straight, one hand behind himself to give him a dignified image. He certainly commanded respect, despite his small overall frame.

The figure behind, still at the gate, was very different. He had rich dark skin, though most of it was hidden by his blue and white garb. Over much of his body was thick black armor, with explosives tucked into the front. He had a thick stubble of black along his face, but his hair was covered by a black cap. Stretching across his left eye was a black eyepatch, but his right burned with a fierceness that made Alby wary. He stumbled forward, gripping a large bottle of whiskey. "AYE, ye double eyed mite with yer face in tact an' no blood on yer 'ands. Who brought ye?" Alby had to work to decipher the slurred words hidden in a thick blanket of scottish drunkenness. "I uhh.." He was lost for words, but the man kept going. "'AVING EYES IS OVERRATED, LAD. YOU CAN ALL SUCK A BIG FAT -" The german man slapped the drunken Scot, who blundered to a corner and sank down into it, draining the last of his whiskey and slumping over.

Alby watched the sleeping drunkard for a moment, glancing at the Sniper, then the Pyro. They seemed not to have noticed the outburst, as though it was common. The German, however, strode forward with his mighty gait and held out a hand. Alby took it with his right hand sheepishly, attempting to storm up something, anything to say. The man spared him the trouble.

"If you are here and are not dead, sen I vill assume zat you are welcome." The man reached behind himself and his hands returned harboring some kind of gun. Or vacuum cleaner. Alby backed away in alarm. "Welcome usually means that I am not a target!" The man let out a bark of laughter, and activated the gun. Rays of soft blue light encircled Alby, and warmed him instantly. He felt almost giddy. His right arm tingled delightfully, but all too soon it was over. Immediately, he felt a sharp pain in his chest, and doubled over, wheezing. Strong blue fingers forced their way under his neck, lifting his head to check for a pulse. "Ah, gut. Your heart did not burst at ze stress. Your body is en excellent shape, Herr…?" He looked at Alby expectantly. Alby gasped, standing, glaring at him incredulously, but decided that he shouldn't ask. The man had obliviously asked a question, and Alby went with the logical answer. "Alby." The man nodded, grabbing his left arm roughly. "I am ze doctor. You may call me Doctor or Medic." He gave Alby a stern glare, as if imagining someone else staring back at him. "Nothing else, clear?" Alby nodded, too terrified of what would happen if he said no. The medic nodded and walked away, removing the battery on his back.

Alby rubbed his arm, realizing that it was completely healed. Amazing! He peered around, realizing that there were at least two missing from the group. Wandering over to sniper, he watched for a moment as the australian cleaned his gun, with the love that he might show a distantly related child. "Umm.. Sniper?" The man grunted to show that he was listening. "H-how many of you are there?" Alby glanced around at the small dusty group around the room. The diversity was unreal, with people of such different skills and heritage strewn around the space. How different would the others be? Sniper grinned, obviously highly amused at Alby's discomfort. "Nine."


End file.
